


everyday work

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [22]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Sportsfest 2018, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: What Oikawa remembers, much later, is not Kita’s firm grip or the way he’d fallen into step with him, easily keeping pace for the rest of their run. He is a creature of habit, Oikawa comes to learn.how naive to think healing was that easy / when there is no end point / no finish line to cross





	everyday work

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sportsfest 2018 Bonus Round 2: Quotes | [originally posted here](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/8539.html?thread=1379419#cmt1379419)

He’s had this planned out in his head for a week now, but as Iwaizumi would delight in reminding him, things never work out quite the way he plans them. He can lean casually against a lamppost, one hand on his hip and the other taking off his earbuds; he can meet the steady gaze of the runner coming his way and raise a hand in greeting and say, _Kita Shinsuke_. He can do his hair just so and make sure he’s wearing his volleyball jersey and mint green sneakers.

All of that, and still Kita can stop, blink at him and go, “Do I know you?”

Oikawa sputters for a moment. “Well, it’s true we’ve never met…”

“You know my name,” Kita says.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru.” Oikawa takes a step towards Kita, holds out his hand with what he hopes is a winning smile. “I was captain of Aoba Jousai. I’ve seen you running this road every morning. Do we go to the same university?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Kita’s eyes now, as he takes Oikawa’s hand and shakes it. “It seems that we do. Nice to meet you, Oikawa-san.”

 

* * *

 

What Oikawa remembers, much later, is not Kita’s firm grip or the way he’d fallen into step with him, easily keeping pace for the rest of their run. He is a creature of habit, Oikawa comes to learn. He will be found rounding this particular corner near the bakery every morning at 6:30 AM, unless it is raining, in which case he prefers a sheltered route around campus. He always ends his run at a vending machine, where he buys a can of CC Lemon.

Some mornings, Oikawa waits for him there, two cans at the ready. Some mornings, he’ll cross paths with Kita midway up the road from his end of the dorms. Kita does not listen to music when he runs, and so Oikawa puts away his own and lets the silence settle in. It’s strange at first, the wind ringing in his ears, Kita’s footsteps at his side. He is used to drowning himself in distraction.

Kita does not need distraction. There are times Oikawa is tempted to pinch him to make sure he is real.

But when he thinks back to their first meeting, what he remembers is that Kita Shinsuke’s palm was sweaty, just a little, and that he was surprised; he was surprised that someone like Kita sweats too, that he is every bit as human as Oikawa himself.

 

* * *

 

They’re near the end of their run one sweltering summer when Oikawa pauses mid-stride, and decides on a whim to push his luck.

“Say, Shin-chan, I’ve been dying to ask you something.”

Kita stares at him for a moment, and suddenly, he’s laughing. Oikawa’s never heard him laugh like this. His head is thrown back and he’s clutching his stomach and the sun is on his face. He feels, all at once, so much younger.

“What’s so funny?” Oikawa pouts.

“I’m sorry,” says Kita, taking a deep breath as he slows his pace. “It’s just that no one calls me that, except my grandmother.”

Oikawa flops down by the kerbside. “I’m not your grandmother.”

“No.” Kita comes to sit down next to him. “You certainly are not. What is it you want to ask?”

Oikawa leans back, palms flat against the pavement. The ground is damp and the morning’s dawned with the smell of dew and last night’s rain, the sweet refrain of the sparrows’ song from the telephone wires overhead. He looks up into the tangerine sky.

“Why do you keep running?”

Kita doesn’t react, not immediately. His arms are folded to rest atop his knees, his back is straight, and he’s gazing across the road at the sunrise on the horizon.

“You surprise me. I thought you might ask if I had regrets about losing my last game. As you did.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows arch. “I don’t need to ask that. I understand how you feel.”

Kita turns to him. There’s a smile on the corners of his lips that’s kinder in the light, the faint remnants of all that bright laughter. “So you want to know why I still run, even though I don’t play volleyball anymore?”

“Well. I guess.” Oikawa pauses. He meets Kita’s gaze, resonant and patient, and thinks again of _regrets_ , of bitterness stoked with pride and a slow fire that’s never quite burnt out, of what it means to keep moving on in your own way.

“It’s the same, isn’t it?” asks Kita, his voice quiet. “Both those questions. If you understand one, Oikawa-san, I think you understand the other.”

And Oikawa, in that moment, does.


End file.
